


there is a light that never goes out

by snowcastle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:39:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8322967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowcastle/pseuds/snowcastle
Summary: Jon and Sansa spends more time together. A fight ensues. And a girl arrives.





	1. take me back to the start

* * *

 

A/N:

 

I based the characters from the show but there will be some instances where they do things that are entirely ooc// have not read the books but watched the show religiously//story stars after 6x10// some alterations// diverts from the direction of the show// im a jonsa fan// 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"Jon?" she asked as she stood behind the fireplace, her composure regal and unyielding making the space between wider than before. But Jon understood now that it wasn't due to contempt or disdain for his illegitimacy, her nose high in the air as she was taught to treat a bastard. It was different now-- the space between them was meant as a protective barrier to keep her self safe. Safe. The word tasted bitter on his tongue. He wanted to tell her that he wasn't going to hurt her, that he would willingly die over and over again if it meant protecting her from the harshness of the world, from the same people who used and abused her. If only he knew the ; he would have left the Night Watch and ridden away to Winterfell.

 

 

"Are you well?" she asked, her hair were as red as ever, even redder than before as the lamps casted a light on her face.It was as if it had a life of its own. He had never seen that kind of shade of red on anyone, even on her late mother. It was exactly the same color of the sky during sunset, perhaps just before or right after. The time where the day was almost at the end and the night was just about to begin. Almost like a reminder of endings but beginnings as well. Something in between. . Kissed by fire, the Wildlings said. He wished so much that she was lucky enough to bear the luck that was associated with the color of her hair among wildlings, but perhaps, the luck was only meant for the free folk. 

 

 

 

"You've been staring at the fire far too long." Sansa said, pointing out that he was brooding again. So broody, so bloody serious.

 

Jon shook his head, "Just woolgathering."

 

 

She nodded and regarded him with a small smile. Sansa, who once smiled as if it was as easy as breathing, rarely smile now. She didn't allow herself to smile. Jon observed. For she stops when she catches and stops herself before she could, fearing that smiling means that bad things would happen after.

 

 

  
_What did they to you?_

 

 

But even Jon wanted to ask the question, deep inside of him, he had ideas. Jon didn't want to think of the horrors and the cruelty she had endured that they were successful in killing the life and the light in her smiles.

 

 

 

They broke her. And Jon's heart hurt. So much that he could feel the scars and the wounds opening again, the blood seeping out of his broken skin.

 

 

 

"Walk with me?" Jon was pulled out of his reverie when he heard her silent plea in her eyes but the authority in her voice, clear as crystal.

 

 

 

It was the first time she had asked him to accompany her to one of her routine walks. The night and the few days that followed after they reclaimed the North and he was crowned the King in the North, Sansa distanced himself away from him, giving her a curt nod and even ignoring him sometimes, ignored him as though he was back to being his bastard brother-- and now, he had taken what was rightfully hers. When he couldn't take her dismissal any longer, he cornered her in the drawing room.

 

 

 

"Are you that angry to me?" He asked, his hands balled into fist on both of his side, he was angry but he was afraid too, fearing that she hated him now after he was crowned the King in the North, when it was because of her that they had taken the Winterfell. He felt undeserving for he wasn't a Stark, not by name. He had no doubt that the Knights of the Vale rallied for her, because she was Winterfell's daughter. A true Stark.

 

 

 

"Leave it, Jon." she said, so bloody dismissive, her azure eyes looking at everything but him.

 

 

 

"Surely, you don't think that was all what I wanted." And that was truth, and maybe once upon a time, he had wanted all that. He was insecure as a lad. Being a bastard, being someone not recognized made him wish for all these things but not with a price. But once he had joined the Night's Watch, he was resigned to that idea. He made progress, and rose and became the Lord Commander on his own. Worthy of respect, somehow but not the same way Robb was, as he wished it would be. 

 

 

 

But then the Stark family was murdered, his only family. The only family he knew of. His father, brothers dead, and sisters missing. He was betrayed by his brothers and murdered because he didn't play according to the rules. He was left to die in cold, pulled to darkness and nothingness. And then he found himself, breathing; merely existing, not living. So much had happened. So many terrible things that made him mad and angry and cold, and once he was handed the opportunity to desert his duty, he didn't think twic. He packed his things, ready to forget and ready to leave the Night's Watch when she came.

 

 

 

  
And everything changed.

 

 

 

"Do you wish I was the one who's dead?" he asked, and finally, finally Sansa looked at him. Her eyes, blue but it was the blue of fire, blazing and angry as he was. Perhaps even more so.

 

 

"Don't be an idiot."

 

 

"Aye. An idiot." He said with disgust, his lips curling into a snarl and his eyes darkened with anger. "Isn't that what you think of me all this time?"

 

 

"No!" She gave him a glare. She was ice and then she was fire.

 

 

 

"Then what is it?!" He demanded and stepped closer to her, their face only inches apart. He could feel her warm breath, could smell the lemons in her hair. "Do you hate me for surviving? Do you only see me as a way to secure Winterfell? And once you have it, did you plan to dispose me once used? Do you hate me for taking everything that is yours?!!" Sansa took a deep breath and then spoke, her voice void of emotion. Jon wondered how she willed herself to be so cold, so empty, so unfeeling.

 

"I resented you for being the King in the North. For accepting it." Sansa staggered in her feet, and turned her back. And Jon's beating heart broke like a vase, pieces scattered on the ground. For a time, he thought he was getting close to her, someone worthy to breathe the same air as she. But was it just a wishful thinking?

 

 

 

He turned to leave but a hand stopped him from taking another step and when he turned around, he noticed that her lips were quivering, a blood trickled in the center. "Because I know what happens to kings, Jon. They lose and die. They get betrayed, or they betray. Anything for power. And I don't want that for you. I don't want you tainted with the ugliness of it all." Jon stared at her hands, holding his wrist as if it was her lifeline. He wanted to speak, and tell her assurances or anything, anything to be the girl he once remembered, even if they weren't close when they were children. He wanted always to think of her that way. Hopeful. Beautiful. Naive. But before he could utter any words, she left him but not before he saw the tears in her eyes.

 

 

 

"Jon?" She asked in that soft voice that Jon was unfamiliar with. "Do you want to walk with me or shall I leave you to your thoughts?"  

 

"No," he said, too quickly and felt embarrassed. Ever since their fight, they did not allow themselves to be alone together. They always found an excuse to avoid each other for they knew that being alone together would result to another fight and angry words. But now, he realized how empty he felt because even though they fight often-- too often, but there were also moments where they see the glimpse of vulnerability that allowed them to be just be. Like now.

 

"Shall we, your grace?" She asked. And Jon felt himself smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. ii-- home is where the heart is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa spends more time together. A fight ensues. And a girl arrives.

He led her out of their home. 

 

 

Home. 

 

The word taste strange in his mouth. He almost had forgotten what the word meant and how it felt to be home. But he was glad to be reminded of that every day. For whatever Sansa and him lost, they gained each other. 

 

 

They became closer but there was still some distance between them. And Jon somehow could not find any fault for the space that separated them, for he understood well that it was not easy for her . She needed time to fix herself and Jon would give her all the time in the world but he would stay. He would stay by her side while she's mending her heart. 

 

 

On the morning after they quarreled, Jon was presented with another cloak by a servant. And Jon could not help but smile knowing it was from Sansa. She always did this, stitch another cloak for him after they fought. He thought it was unnecessary at first, but realized soon that this was her way of apologizing. In return, Jon would ask the cook to prepare for lemon cakes.

 

They sounded like children, it was almost ridiculous, but Jon lived for those moments. 

 

 

He smiled despite himself. 

 

"What are you smiling about? You look like a fool!" From behind him, Tormund growled like a beast but his words were tinged with amusement. He knew him well, Jon admitted. Tormund always teased Jon for being so sullen, a known fact about him even as a child. He was always somber, serious, always sulking and brooding in one corner. Unlike most bastards, Jon lived with his father's true born children; something the Northerners frowned about. Aye, he had opportunities and he was luckier than most bastards he had known but Jon resented his position in Winterfell. He carried the weight of his illegitimacy on his shoulders, so afraid to disappoint Lady Catelyn. So afraid to prove her right that he didn't deserve to be breathing the same air as the rest of her family, that he belonged somewhere else. She hated him so, cursed him and along the years, he carried it in his heart and when he looked at Sansa, sometimes, he could feel the ghost of her mother, watching him with disapproval and mistrust. 

 

What right does he have to moon about her daughter? 

 

Jon shook his head, willing himself to stray from such thoughts.

 

"She made you another one?"

 

Jon touched the cloak, felt the softness of the fur on his calloused hands, another smile was playing across his lips. Ever since Sansa came, he seemed to be smiling more and more. It felt strange and yet somehow, it felt so right. "Aye. That she did."

 

"But you always fight." Jon nodded. "We were never close when we were children." Jon explained and Tormund nodded, as if he understood the complexities of Jon's relationship with Sansa. Even now, even after they shared evening meals and walked along the walls of their home, he didn't know where to stand or where to place himself. 

 

"I don't understand crows." Tormund grunted, pertaining to Jon's relationship with Sansa. Jon said nothing more but held the cloak in his hands firmly.

 

Just then, Sansa emerged with Lord Baelish on her side. Their eyes met but it was Sansa who turned away first, with Lord Baelish trailing behind. His hand curled into a first, noting the Lord's interest in Sansa. Jon was well aware of Lord Baelish's interest in Sansa, could see it in the way he watched Sansa with hunger in his eyes. He was leering as if waiting for the perfect moment to snatch Sansa away from him. But he'd be dead before he could do that.

 

Willing himself to push away the thoughts, he went along with Tormund and Ser Davos to oversee the repair of their home.

 

 

When he was done with his duties, he retired to his bedchamber. He closed his eyes but sleep did not welcome him. He frowned, remembering the sneer on Lord Baelish's face as he watched the two of them together. He wanted to tear the smirk on his face, to take Sansa's hand and remind her that---

 

 

"Jon.." The door opened to his bedchamber, revealing a lady with red hair and blue eyes. Jon scrambled to his feet, all tousled and messy from the day's hard work. He hadn't even bathed. 

 

 

"I wanted to--" Sansa started, pushing his way through his door. Jon was aware of the impropriety of her approach-- sister or not, ladies are not allowed to enter one's bedchamber in the dead of the night. Let alone a beautiful one. He shook his head. 

 

 

"There's no need to explain. You don't owe me any explanations." He had said not realizing how angry he sounded until Sansa glanced at him with a hurt expression before schooling it the face he was accustomed to: indifference.

 

 

"Very welll. If that's what you want. I shan't disturb you any further then, Your Grace." she curtsied, but there was no softness in her voice.

 

How is it possible that her words cut him so deep? 

 

 

Turning his body away from her, he heard the door to his chamber closed with a thud.

 

.

 

..

 

...

 

....

 

 

(present day)

 

"Jon..." Sansa began as they walked along the familiar path to the Godswood. Pulling him out once more from his thoughts. "I was being awful to you again, was I not?" She said with a sad smile. 

 

 

"I know you're trying to protect me." she said, her eyes focused on the trees that surround their home. She glanced at him for a confirmation and Jon was almost tempted to say that yes, he was only trying to protect her but before he could say something, she continued.

 

"And I know you must think that I'm scheming behind your back. I cannot bear it if you are angry at me but if there was any way, anything for me to do to protect you--"

 

 

Jon stopped abruptly and turned to face her. "Protect me?" He said in disbelief, and then his eyes were a fire among the cold. He was furious and angry. He wanted to growl. "You think I'm the one who needs protecting? You think I am not strong enough to protect you and yet you think yourself capable of protecting me?" 

Sansa....

 

 

"Do you take me for a fool?"

 

 

"You did not listen to me before about Ramsay, but you must listen to me, now." Jon felt the bitter taste in his mouth. 

 

 

He turned away from her, but Sansa held on his cloak like a child so that he was forced to look at her. "Ramsay torments people physically. He lays traps." She said, a reminder of their talk the day before the battle. "But Lord Baelish," she continued as her hold began to loosen, "He holds people, manipulates them, lies to them and makes them do things without even lifting his fingers. Hence, the name. Like Ramsay, he plays with people but he's much more dangerous. He's a man who stops at nothing to achieve his goal and he's completely set on destroying anything that he considers a threat."

 

 

"What does he want?"

 

"He wants to be the King. He wants the throne." Jon nodded, finally in the light but there was something about Sansa's face that made him think she was purposely leaving some things out. "Sansa," Jon prodded, for he knew her now, knew when she kept things to herself and knew her hands shook whenever she was anxious about something. 

 

"He wants me. Said he wanted to seat on the throne with me beside him." 

 

"Do you want to?"

 

Sansa shook her head, "How could you ask me that?" 

 

"You said he had some hold of you." 

 

"He does. He made... he kept me safe from the Queen's wrath after being blamed for Joffrey's death." Jon took note of her expression; there was pain and hurt, and some sign of helplessness in her eyes but it was soon turned to indifference. And Jon wondered if he might have imagined it. Not wanting to distress her any further, Jon offered his arm to accompany her back home when Ser Daavos made his way towards them with an unreadable expression.

 

 

"Your Grace, you Ladyship.There is a girl, say she's a Stark." Jon and Sansa looked at each other, and a realization dawned in their eyes. 

 

"Arya."


End file.
